Plato's Funeral (Party)
by The Readers Muse
Summary: They were tackling the pile of wedding gifts stacked on the dining room table when it happened.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NBC's "Grimm." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This has been rattling around in my drafts for months and months so here you go. This could fit into the show at any point in an au where Nick and Monroe got together.

**Warnings:** drug use, anal sex, sexual content, knotting, possible dubious consent issues due to trope, mating cycles/in heat, romance, drama, humor.

**Plato's Funeral (Party)**

_**Chapter One**_

They were tackling the pile of wedding gifts stacked on the dining room table when it happened.

He was poking through glitzy wrapping and cellophane. Hunting for labels and stray cards as Monroe waited with a pen and paper. Ready to write down the next one for the thank you cards. Which was apparently even more important when half the people at said wedding were Wesen and stickers for tradition - or so Monroe claimed.

Despite having put it off until the last possible minute, the conversation was easy and flowing. He would say a name he didn't recognize and get a meandering monologue about how Monroe knew them or why they'd been invited in the first place. For a recluse, Monroe actually knew a crap ton of people.

"Oh- hey, this one's from Rosalee..." he remarked in surprise. Holding up a small box decorated with sprigs of lavender and sage that'd been tied into the ribbon. Making him smile as he admired the rustic touch.

The chair behind him creaked as Monroe got up.

"I thought Rosalee and Hank already gave us a gift?" Monroe questioned, slipping off his glasses as he leaned in for a look. Pressing a quick peck across the shell of his ear as he turned the tag so he could see. "Whatever it is, they shouldn't have. They organized the pool that paid for our honeymoon."

"I know," he returned, smiling to himself as he eyed their luggage already packed beside the front door. He ran his hand through his hair, still hardly daring to believe it. _Just three more days.__  
_  
He looked down just in time to see a tag on the floor underneath where the package had been sitting. Catching a glimpse of familiar writing. _Huh._

"Oh, wait, there's another tag," he told him, bending down to pick it up as Monroe waded back through the sea of tissue paper. Grinning when the blutbad cursed, shin glancing the table leg.

"It says: "_'Monroe: don't open until the honeymoon'_," he recited, squinting at the card. Mentally calculating the remaining space in their carry on. Wondering if he should just open it and make sure it would at least clear security before they started the overweight vs underweight argument using the bathroom scale.

"What?" Monroe asked. Distracted as he tried to shake off a sheet of cellophane that was clinging to his leg in a mess of crackling static.

He eased open the box and let go of an impressed - and confused - whistle. Carefully lifting the small vial of red and black powder from its expensive velvet cushioning. Already convinced this was some sort of Wesen thing.

"Geeze, this looks pricey. What the hell is it, you think?" he questioned mildly, thumbing the cork open with a gentle flick. Immediately filling the air with a smell that was almost-

Monroe's head whipped around. Alarmed.

"Nick, don't!"

He froze, vial still far too close to his face.

He couldn't place the scent. It was familiar, but not. Harsh, but warm.

His nose twitched, lungs roiling as the strong, musky scent tickled in his sinuses.

Getting caught in his throat and-

He coughed.

"Oh. _Crap_," Monroe murmured concisely, as a visible puff of the powder wisped from the vial and into the open air. Blinking at him with huge, red pupils before promptly passing out standing up. Nearly flattening him when he lunged forward and grabbed him before gravity took them down in a heap.

"Monroe? _Fuck._ Monroe!"

His knees grazed the carpet in a harsh burn as he twisted in place. Carefully putting the cap on the vial as he lowered the man's head into the mountain of tissue paper. Shaking him urgently before jamming his fingers into his pulse point. Relieved to find it steady. Fast, but steady.

If it was from Rosalee it couldn't be bad.

_Could it?_

He called her cell frantically. Leaning down and pressing his ear against the Monroe's chest. Reassuring himself as the steady beat of the man's heart thudded against his.

"Hey, Nick! Good timing. I was about to call. Can you put Monroe on? Me, Wu and Hank went in on an extra gift. I want to make sure Monroe brings it for the honeymoon," Rosalee chirped.

"I'm pretty sure we found it. That's why I'm calling," he returned, only slightly snippy. Looking down at his unconscious husband with a frown. "The vial of red and black powder?"

"Yeah! Oh_. Oh._ Um. Bad time?"

"You could say that," he muttered. "He's unconscious. I opened it and coughed. He inhaled some of it. I think."

His eyebrows nearly hit his hairline when what sounded suspiciously like a giggle strangled across the line.

"Rosalee," he said seriously, putting emphasis on every word before he let go of it. "What the _hell_ did you do?"

"Ok, ok, calm down. It's fine. _He's fine_. That's normal- ish. Its, uh- a traditional thing. Look, you don't have a lot of time. I need to ask, but has Monroe talked to you about knotting?"

His face flamed over phone.

"No, I mean- uh, yes. But we haven't done it yet. We were waiting for the honeymoon and..." he paused, trailing off. Getting an idea about where this was all heading as he sighed. "...Thanks for that."

It didn't come out as sarcastic as he wanted. But at least it wasn't as strangled as the noise he'd made when he'd stumbled on that particular detail in one of the books in the trailer. Desperate to find something to knock a fucking clue into Monroe's head that he wanted to be more than friends. It hadn't worked. But, as it turned out, pushing him into the wall and kissing him stupid after a mission gone wrong had done the trick just fine.

"Oh, _thank god_. Well, kind of. At least you know about it, right?" Rosalee coaxed. Still sounding like she was grinning into the phone.

"I don't think that is something you wait until _after_ the wedding to talk about," he pointed out.

"Okay, fair. Look, I'm sorry about this, really- but you aren't going to make it to the honeymoon. He'll probably knot you. Nick, you're going to have to uh- _prepare yourself_. He won't be in the right frame of mind to wait, if you get my drift."

He winced.

"What exactly is it?" he asked, eying the vial with a healthy dose of suspicion.

"Basically? Blutbadden Viagra."

"Rosalee!"

"Sorry! Like I said, it's traditional. I honestly thought he'd appreciate it. He will, actually. It's an herb, super rare. Think catnip, but for blutbads," she told him, actually sounding sincere for the first time. Her lack of panic calming him, if only slightly. "If he inhaled that much its no wonder he passed out. He's going to be on your ass the second he wakes up and probably hard enough to jump a brick house. He isn't going to be that far out of it, so don't worry about taking advantage. He's just going to wake up..._um…very_ happy to see you."

_For fucks sake._

He shook his head, looking down at his unconscious husband. Eyes automatically straying down to the large, interested tent the blutbad's cock was pitching under the material of his slacks.

This wasn't exactly how he'd pictured it happening.

"Look, Nick, you need to get moving. He's going to wake up any moment," she told him, not bothering to hide the laughter in her voice this time around. Knowing she was going to tell Hank the moment she got off the phone and then he'd never hear the end of it.

He rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Call you later."

"Have fun!" Rosalee laughed, before the line cut off. Leaving him with nothing to do but look down at Monroe with a guilty little thrill of terrified excitement.

"We never do anything in halves, do we?" he murmured. Sucking in a deep breath as he smoothed the man's hair off his face with a fond, half smile.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be one more chapter.

**Reference:**

\- Plato: the famous philosopher died because he partied too hard. I thought it was funny considering the theme of this fic, so here we are.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own "Grimm." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This has been rattling around in my drafts for months and months.

**Warnings:**drug use, sexual content, knotting, possible dubious consent issues due to trope, mating cycles/in heat, romance, drama, humor.

**Plato's Funeral (Party)**

_**Chapter Two**_

He was barely out of what had to be the world's quickest shower when it happened. He had three fingers shoved up his ass in a desperate attempt to prep himself, when the sound of something falling echoed from downstairs.

He froze, accidentally upsetting the bottle of lube as it hit the hardwood below the bed with a hollow sound that carried on for far too long. He squeezed his eyes shut. Feeling distinctly prey-like. Heart beating a mile a minute as the stairs creaked. Like Monroe was balancing on the bottom step, listening.

Shit.

One of the fingers in his ass twitched, grazing his prostate.

_Shit._

He bit his lip, warmth pooling in his belly. Wondering what shade of wrong it was to be this excited _and_ terrified as the soft hush of footsteps issued from down the hall.

"Monroe?"

It barely even sounded like him.

He held his breath, watching the hall beyond the open door as he slowly allowed his fingers to curl. Hazing heat down his spine that he arched into, scissoring his fingers as best he could. Knuckles brushing the abused rim of his hole as the creaky floorboard at the top of the stairs sounded off.

His cock bobbed in front of him, beading water from the shower. Looking completely fucking _obscene_ as Monroe's shadow loomed. Wondering what the man was thinking – wondering if he could smell him. _Oh god, of course he could_. All of that combined sent little jolts of pleasure humming through him. Making him spread his legs wider, fingers curling and pushing inside, trying to find-

A low growl issued from the shadows beyond the door when he bit off a moan. Realizing Monroe was already there, watching him. A blush rippled through him like dry heat. Recognizing the sound in a way that made it criminally easy to forget about being nervous or unprepared. Instead, it made him cant his hips - raising them. Showing Monroe what he was doing as his fingers worked in and out. Not holding back as the head of his cock started dribbling – dappling his thighs with wet. Needing it just as bad as Monroe as the splintering sound of claws sinking into the door-frame made his cheeks heat.

_Jesus Christ._

He breathed hotly - staring - as Monroe emerged from the darkness. Red eyes glowing as his chest rose and fell in exaggerated whuffs. Like he was trying to take in as much of his scent as he could. Letting go of a dark, rolling churl of sound that only seemed to get louder the longer it went on. Filling up the space.

He shivered. The little hairs on the back of his neck prickling as they just stared. _Stalemated_.

Monroe's jeans were already half undone. Cock straining against the slit in his briefs. The fabric already dark with pre-cum. He let go of a needy sound at the mental image. Of Monroe waking up so desperate, _so fucking hard_, he'd torn at his zipper and-  
_  
__Oh god._

The fingers in his ass curled again, working in and out. Suddenly hyper-aware of the filthy sounds as lube dripped between his fingers and onto the sheets. Eying the purple-red color that only seemed to get darker the further down it went. Crowning Monroe's shaft with a strange, knobbly swelling he'd only seen hints of before now.

The first time he'd caught a glimpse of Monroe's knot had been the _first_ _time_.

Literally.

It had been an awkward conversation, made even more awkward when Monroe had locked himself in the bathroom and had a very loud freak-out about it while he tried to jimmy the lock. Thinking something terrible had happened or he'd done something wrong or- well, _you know_\- pick a flavor.

Apparently having your knot pop the first time you get your best friend, newly-minted romantic interest naked and pinned against the wall was something of a dilemma. If you were a blutbad. At the time, he'd just been confused and weirdly turned on.

It had taken a while for him to really understand it, but to bludbadden, knotting was special. It didn't happen every time or with just any partner. And it certainly wasn't meant for anything casual. It was, _well_\- marriage, more or less. _Mates_. And Monroe took it seriously. Which is why they'd planned to wait until after the wedding.

Because while he could've cared less, Monroe had a romantic streak five hundred miles wide. Deciding that the honeymoon was the perfect time to pop something _other_ than champagne. Personally, he would have had Monroe and his freaky biology six ways to Sunday by now, but the man had been surprisingly stubborn about it.

So much for best laid plans.

He choked on a laugh as the thought breezed through his mind's eye. Watching Monroe's throat work through a hard swallow. Beautiful in that unique, otherworldly way only feral things were. Highlighting their differences in a way he couldn't ignore or explain away. Just another reminder of how much his life had changed, and how little of it he regretted.

The learning curve had been cut-throat, but finding Monroe had been the best thing that'd ever happened to him.

A trickle of sweat worked its way down his spine. Watching with open want as Monroe's face flickered between human and wesen. Too far gone to keep to one as he scented the air. Features sharp, but claws still carefully curled into his palms, fisting nothing.

And for some reason, _that_ was what did it for him.

Monroe had spent years holding himself back.

Showing how strong he was every day as he kept to his regimen.

And despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but want to give him something back.

To remind him it was okay to let go every once and a while.

That he'd keep him safe.

That he'd never let anything happen.

That-

"Please..." he croaked.

Monroe was there in an instant. Breathing hard and _still_ _fucking_ _wearing_ _clothes_.

He reached for him.

"Off. Take them off-"

Monroe was on him before he could finish. Pushing his legs apart and forcing his fingers deeper as he gripped his ass. Cock nudging against his crack with a humid heat that made him moan in anticipation.

This was real.

This was happening

And as if to prove it, Monroe's hips stuttered. Pressing down on the fingers that were still inside, grazing his prostate. Growling when every hair-trigger movement made him whimper. He shifted, desperate in that _too much_ sort of way, only to grunt when Monroe forced him still. Thighs knocking together so hard the fleshy sound made his ears burn. Clenching around his fingers as Monroe chuckled darkly. Treating him to the flash of red eyes and sharp teeth as he leaned down and licked a stripe down the knobs of his spine.

_Holy_ _fuck._

He looked up, trying to see. Head tossed back at the rush of friction as the man's cock caught in the slick part of his ass. Aware he was flashing the white of his throat – adam's apple jerking through a dry swallow. Knowing it was a mistake the same moment Monroe snarled at him. Nipping the side of his chin sloppily before bracing himself on one arm and tugging at his jeans. Kicking out of his clothes with an awkward flail, because apparently being separated from him for even an instant was fucking torture.

It was staggering how much he related.

Only he didn't have the excuse of being under the influence.

"Mine," Monroe snarled, mashing him into the duvet with a satisfied sound. Covering him with his skin in a way he recognized from the times Monroe had been on the cusp of losing control. Giving in to his instincts, if only for a moment, before he pulled back and took a moment to regain himself. Not listening to him when he said he didn't mind. That he _liked_ _it_ when he got like that.

But this time Monroe didn't stop.

He didn't pull away or get self-conscious.

He was a runaway train of deliciously good bad intentions.

He scrabbled at the sheets, trying and failing to find purchase as Monroe pushed in. Feeling the blunt, familiar burn after the quick prep. Stuttering a groan that sounded like it'd been punched out of him as Monroe bottomed out. Growling and grabbing him possessively as his cock split through him. Killing the remaining air in his lungs. Nerves on the edge between pain and pleasure as the points of Monroe's nails sharpened, digging into his hips.

And he fucking loved it.

"Yes, fuck- _Monroe_. Just-"

He leaned back as much as Monroe would allow as the man started to thrust. Somehow managing to graze his prostate every other time. Pinned between him and the headboard as he scrabbled to gain purchase.

Only Monroe didn't seem keen on letting him do much but take it.

Because when he finally had the bedpost in a death-grip, he was abruptly hauled back. Speared on his cock as Monroe forced him to show his throat. Leaving a nibbling trail of saliva from the underside of his chin to his pulse-point. Dragging his teeth until the skin felt hot and abused, stinging in a way that made his dick jump. Tightening around Monroe until the man snarled and closed his hand around his throat. Squeezing just enough for him to-

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

"Fuck- Monroe- that's-"

He should have expected that neither of them were going to last, but it was still a shock when he realized Monroe was swelling. Getting a hint of the knot as it tugged at his rim every time Monroe sank home. Becoming more and more until it couldn't be ignored and he was gasping at the stretch. Chewing on the inside of his lip as Monroe tonguing the faint mating scar he'd give him almost a year ago. Knowing what was coming as Monroe's hips jerked, forcing him to take it. Breaching him the same moment he bit down on the mark, making him shout.

They hadn't talked much about how it would happen, or how it would feel.

Monroe always got squirrely about it when he brought it up.

And now he knew why.

It was too much.

It was a blunt, unstoppable pressure that was out to rip him in half.

It was pleasure and pain.

It was that angry, static feeling that ripples through you when you've been sitting too long.

It was- _oh_.

Good.

It was good.

_Holy shit- he was going to-__  
_  
He didn't realize it was him making the low, guttural sound that was ringing in his ears until Monroe hummed an answering growl. Nosing into the arc of his throat as an overwhelmed keen slipped between his teeth like a whine. Lips so tight across his face they might have gone white. Aware on some level that he'd come all over himself. Tasting it on his lips. Squirming and caught on Monroe's cock as he pumped into him lazily. Knot fat and swollen underneath the muscles of his belly. Unable to stop himself from grazing the skin with his hand. Imagining he could feel it as Monroe filled him up.

His cock twitched.

And Monroe, the bastard, seemed to take it as a signal to wrap his hand around his cock again and start jacking him off slowly. Refusing to stop even when he shook his head and whimpered. Watching with pleasure-blown eyes as Monroe slowly milked a blot of cum from him. Letting it pool on the cuticle of his thumb before working it back over his cockhead. The single-minded focus reminding him of all the times Monroe had spread his cheeks and ate him out until he couldn't string two words together.

He couldn't come again.

He couldn't-

He came again with a dry, piercing cry. Oozing cum between thick fingers as Monroe grunted and pulsed in him again. Hands clawing around his hips in when he tightened reflexively. Grateful for Monroe's grip as he slumped, loopy, into the box of his elbows. Ass up and-

* * *

"Nick? What-"

It was night when he finally woke up. Looking around blearily as Monroe shifted in the dark, rustling the sheets. Warm and solid behind him as the moist-pressure of the man's cock prodded against his inner thigh. Radiating lazy heat as the moon shone through the window behind them.

"-the hell?"

He snorted, knowing Monroe could see his amused expression in the dark as the man grunted and fished the sheets from between his legs. Fussing with them until he was satisfied they were both fully covered.

"Blutbadden Viagra," he murmured sleepily, by way of explanation. Feeling the exhale when Monroe let go of a jaw cracking yawn. Then the rasp of his beard ghosting across his neck as he scented him openly. Rumbling happily.

"Of course you are," Monroe answered magnanimously. Not catching on in the slightest as he stretched. Clearly enjoying a feeling that was probably somewhere beyond relaxed, if his admittedly tame college experiences with narcotics was any judge.

He muffled a laugh into his forearm, smile spreading. Realizing Monroe had probably recognized it by smell the moment before he'd been affected. That was why he'd yelled at him when he'd uncorked the vial.

"No, I mean, what Rosalee gave us. You know, for the honeymoon?"

But Monroe was already half-asleep. Snuggling into the curve of his neck with a happy murmur before he rolled him partially under him. Protected and safe.

He followed suit before he could finish chuckling. Listening as Monroe's breathing evened out. Taking him down with him as he spared a single, fond thought towards the little vial of powder downstairs. Having absolutely nothing in the way of regrets as the bite mark on his shoulder throbbed warmly.

Maybe he could find a little room in his carry-on after all.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.


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